The Vigil
by FaithOfTheHeart
Summary: A 'missing scene' tag to Shuttlepod One, set just after Trip and Malcolm are rescued. Jon's thoughts and reflections as he waits for them to recover. Jon/Trip/Malcolm friendship.


A/N: Hello again, folks, and greetings from sunny Scotland! Yes, I'm up here on holiday at the moment, hiking through the Cairngorms. And I don't know if it's the clear air, or amazing food, but my lovely little plot bunnies have gone a bit - well, hyper hoppy.

It's been quite a battle too, between Angst-Bunny and Chuckle-Bunny,as to whose story gets finished first. But thanks to a bit of a marathon on the laptop last night (got to bed just after one this morning, and - boy, did I pay for it today!), Angst-Bunny has just nudged the win.

This is a missing scene from Shuttlepod One, another of my all time favourite episodes. Of course, poor Trip and Malcolm don't say much, since they're both still out for the count after being rescued. But I thought it would be nice to feature just Jon this time, as he keeps vigil over them in Sickbay, and reflects on what they've been through.

Don't worry, though, the boys will be back soon with their Cap'n. Fully conscious this time, but still in deep trouble, for Chuckle-Bunny's next work of madness. It's another missing scene, from Two Days And Two Nights - such a brilliantly funny episode!

Before then - well, I hope you enjoy this latest story!

* * *

The Vigil

Somewhere through the course of that afternoon, Jonathan Archer had lost all track of time. From the moment they'd brought the Shuttlepod on board, and he'd opened its hatch, the passage of hours, and minutes, and seconds, had become as frozen as the two bodies that he'd found inside it.

Through a blur, he'd watched in silent horror while Phlox and his team swarmed with practised calm around them. To Trip, first, whose vital signs had started to crash terrifyingly downwards -

"_Commander Tucker's in V-Fib!_"

- then to Malcolm, whose more stable condition had somehow given Trip's heart the incentive to return to its own, natural rhythm.

Then he'd stood as a helpless observer through the painstaking process of re-warming them, until they were stable enough to be safely moved. Run beside the gurneys that had finally swept them into Sickbay.

Now he sat where his sense of duty could run in tandem with his more personal sentiments. Stationed between their beds, he would stay here, until they recovered. Which, as Phlox had gently warned him, was still some considerable time away yet.

Still, none of that mattered to him. His place had to be _here_, and - yes, God knew. He'd been 'here' more times than he cared to count.

_'Damn it, Trip. I'm getting way too old for this_.'

As quickly as this chastisement entered his mind, though, Jon chased it away. Not just mentally, but physically too. Lifting the blankets from Trip's side, he slid his hand beneath them, until warm fingers touched others that were still like ice.

Against the familiar crush of worry and tiredness, he quietly said them. The same words of reassuring comfort that he'd been offering his friend for the last two hours.

"It's all right, Trip, you're safe now. We found you, Trip. We found both of you. And you're going to be fine."

Still nothing. No response at all from the fingers that felt like glaciers against his own. No sound from either of the beds that flanked him. Not from Trip, or Malcolm. No deep Southern drawl, telling him to _'quit his fussin' an' get some damn sleep_.' No softer British tones, expressing its embarrassment for his Captain's concern.

Remembering the other reason for this latest vigil, Jon turned in his seat, so that he could give his tactical officer the same, quiet encouragement. Smile with the same pride for his instinctive ingenuity.

"You too, Malcolm. And I think I can guess whose idea it was to blow up that engine. It _definitely_ got our attention."

Knowing how Trip must have reacted to that act of life-or-death desperation, Jon allowed his smile to widen - shaking his head as he played that exchange through his imagination.

_'You wanna blow up our engine?! Are you outta your freakin', freezin' mind?!_'

"_It's our only option, Commander. Our only hope for Enterprise to find us_.'

Oh yes, that would have been one _hell_ of a show. His chief engineer, butting heads with his equally stubborn tactical officer. In that, at least, Jon thought dryly, they had one thing in common. Or, given their unfortunate knack for attracting trouble, like magnets on legs- yeah, better make that two.

Glancing at those heads now, tousled mops of brown and blond, only reminded him, more seriously, of the differences between them, that had nothing to do with their physical appearance. There was Trip, all bright eyed, live-for-the moment ebullience, and Malcolm's far quieter, more disciplined reserve.

Jon couldn't think of two more polar opposite personalities to have gone through such a terrifying, life changing experience. They were Ying and Yang. Chalk and cheese. Oil and water. Sunshine and shadow.

That last thought stayed rather more worryingly in his mind as he continued to study them. In Malcolm's case, rather more than Trip's, he was going to have to keep a subtle eye on them for a while, just to see if it had adversely changed them.

His parents may not give a damn about him, or his chosen career. But the Captain who was now tasked with keeping him safe through its mission out here - yes, Jonathan Archer _did_ care. And one of these days, he thought more sadly, those defences would drop enough for Malcolm Reed to believe and accept it

On the brighter side that he had to find now, Jon also knew this ordeal must have brought them closer. Forged the same bond of friendship which that chance meeting at Starfleet had done for him, all those eight years ago.

More immediately, though, it was just him, keeping this self-obliged vigil at their bedsides. And through knowing him for the longer time, it was Trip who kept drawing more and more of his attention. Who turned his memories back again, to that day when they'd met for the first time. The promise he'd made, in blissful ignorance of the unseen threats and dangers which lay beyond it.

_'You'll get out there someday. If I had my own ship, I'd sign you up in a second.'_

As soon as he'd heard that lifelong dream had come true, the first person he'd called had been as instinctive as breathing. Not his mother, though. No, for reasons that she'd assured him she'd understood, it had been Trip.

By the time they'd stopped yelling and laughing, cherishing the moment, it had been almost one in the morning. Far too late for him to have called home, and - _God_. If either of them had known then, what they knew now -

"...yeah, I guess we've found more out here, Trip, than either of us could have imagined..."

- Jon knew it wouldn't have changed a damn thing. From vastly different backgrounds, with two opposing but perfectly complimentary personalities, this was where they belonged. Where he, and Trip, were simply destined to be.

From bright-eyed lieutenant to equally bright eyed Commander - yes, Jon thought through a proud smile, how far his friend had come. Whatever life threw at him, Trip came through it with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of strength and courage. He'd survived it all so far. He _had_ to survive this.

Of all the close calls he'd had - and, damn, if he were a cat, he'd be on his last life by now - this would rank right up there in the top three. Even with those few hours of air left in the shuttle, Jon knew they'd have been dead long before it ran out. Frozen to death, long before either of them could take their final, agonizingly restricted breaths.

For several, terrifying seconds, that unthinkable scenario had played out in front of him. The scene that had met his eyes when they'd opened the hatch, and seen two lifelessly blue bodies huddled together on that bench, would haunt his nights for several days to come.

Maybe that's why he'd had to defy his CMO's typically patient assurances, and stay here, until either grey eyes or blue brought them back into the land of the living. Why he had to rest his fingers against Trip's cheek, just to prove to himself that it hadn't happened. That he was really there. Still huddled under a pile of blankets, still a humanised icicle, but - there.

_Here_.

_Alive_.

But still so _cold_, Jon thought, watching for the reaction that he knew wouldn't, _couldn't_, come, for several hours yet. Still so deathly, _deathly_ cold.

Damn, from just these few seconds of contact, even _his_ fingers felt chilled now - enough for him to retract them from Trip's face, in guilty disgust at such selfish weakness. What Trip and Malcolm had felt, freezing to an agonizing death inside that shuttlepod - yes, Jon silently berated himself, _that_ had been infinitely worse than this transient discomfort. _That_ had been suffering, in its truest sense.

So his hand settled back again, very gently, against Trip's forehead, its fingers brushing absently through his hair. If he was anywhere near consciousness, Jon knew he'd hear that familiar, half hearted complaint, that stood for nothing against how much this gesture meant to him.

_'Y'know, I reeeeeaaally hate it when you keep mussin' it up like that_.'

For more reasons than to just bug the hell out of his friend, Jon kept his hands right where they were. One on Trip's forehead, the other maintaining the contact that would give him the first sign that his friend was waking up.

Warmed by the thermal packs and blankets above them, his own fingers were, at least, retaining their sensation. And, more than anything else, they had to stay there, to offer comfort. To let Trip know that he was safe. A simple but precious means of contact between the living world, and the one that had just come so damn close to claiming him.

_Again_.

_'God, Trip, no wonder I'm going grey_.'

He must have spoken that thought aloud, because a quiet voice beside him betrayed its sympathising amusement.

"From what I've seen of such relationships, Captain, I believe it's a little brother's right, to make life as hard as possible for their older siblings."

Smiling too now, Jon accepted the steaming mugful of coffee that Phlox had brought him with the same gratitude, and even greater wry amusement.

"Do me a favour, doc, and make sure you _never_ let him hear you say that."

After the draining events of the past few hours, it was a moment of levity that both of them needed. A private agreement between them, sealed in a humouring smile on one side, and quiet laughter on the other, before the duties of reality took over once more.

As familiar with this routine as he was, Phlox was already studying the monitors above Trip's bed. Again, he was so familiar with carrying out this action that he answered his Captain's question before he even started to ask it.

"Yes, that's more like it. His core temperature is stable and holding, and... yes, all things considered, the Commander is coming along quite nicely."

Letting the relief on his face speak for itself, Jon then nodded towards the bunk behind him.

"And Malcolm?"

With the patience already borne from much experience, Phlox made the short transition to Malcolm's bedside, and gently repeated what his Captain needed to hear.

"Making excellent progress too, Captain. It will be a few hours yet before they regain consciousness, but they're out of danger. They'll both make full recoveries."

With two lives now retrieved from the steps of death's door, the relief was expressed aloud this time, as memories of two frozen, lifeless bodies flashed again through his mind.

"Thank God. For a while there, doc, I - I really thought I'd lost them."

"Yes, I'll admit it was a rather close call, even for Commander Tucker's unfortunate standards," Phlox agreed, gently adjusting the blankets around Malcolm's shoulders, and allowing himself a wry smile as, just as he'd expected, Jon did the same for Trip.

Seeing this, and recalling what he'd said just moments earlier, Jon grinned too.

"So, it's... uh, that obvious? Trip, I mean, and... well, why I'm always so protective towards him."

In Trip's eyes, of course, that big brotherness also went by several other descriptions. Among the more polite variations, if he were awake now, Jon knew _exactly_ what he'd say.

_'Awww, you gotta be kiddin' me! I wake up in here, an' what do I get? Some cute li'l nurse, moppin' my brow? No, I get Cap'n Cluck, mussin' up my hair!'_

It was impossible not to smile at the thought. Demonstrating how closely those thoughts had been followed, Phlox was smiling too. His reply, though, when it finally came, held nothing but admiration and approval.

"I've known a lot of real life brothers, Captain, both on Earth and back on Denobula. But I can honestly say that none of them share the bond that you have with the Commander, and... well, if it isn't remiss of me to also say, it's something special. Quite wonderfully unique."

The surprised pleasure that Jon felt must have shown itself on his face, since Phlox now smiled as he gave him one last piece of reassuring advice.

"He'll be fine, Captain. Like I say, they'll both make full recoveries, and... now, if I'm not mistaken, you prefer your sandwich with an extra dab of mayonnaise? And light on the pickles?"

Suddenly reminded that he hadn't eaten since breakfast, Jon smiled back at him, and nodded - watching him leave with a heartening sense of gratitude. Trust Phlox to remember those little touches, that came as naturally to him as every doctor who'd come before him. From his favourite sandwich, to recognizing when he needed some rallying encouragement - yes, how well his CMO knew him.

In that respect, he reminded him so much of Trip, and - yes, there was another thought that he gratefully welcomed. It had to be a good sign, too, that the doctor felt comfortable enough now to leave his patients under their Captain's equally vigilant care.

The best sign of all, though, made him sit straight up in his chair. It had passed so briefly that he'd almost, _almost_, missed it. But then it happened again, and there was no doubt about it. No doubt whatsoever.

Trip's fingers had twitched against his hand, with the same warmth that was returning the same signs of life to his face. And from this simple movement, Jon felt the weight of all worlds lift off his shoulders. Even when those fingers stilled again, he didn't mind - because in a few hours, he knew Trip would be awake. Hopefully, Malcolm would be conscious again too. From that thought alone - yes, his day had just become infinitely brighter.


End file.
